


A Part Of His Soul

by Hannibalsimago, Nonexistenz



Category: Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Arguing, Digital Art, Drinking, Hannibal Extended Universe, Hawking, I'm worried about Galahad's liver, M/M, So much drinking, bad decisions while intoxicated, falconry training, it remains to be seen if these two are going to kill each other, threeofswords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 05:39:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13629798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannibalsimago/pseuds/Hannibalsimago, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonexistenz/pseuds/Nonexistenz
Summary: A very young knight makes some incredibly bad choices while inebriated."Arthur spoke. “I am deeply ashamed Galahad. You have wounded a brother knight multiple times over this night with your arrogance, disregard, callousness, cruelty, thoughtlessness, pride and ignorance. I am greatly tempted to oust you from the knights as of this moment. You have wounded Tristan as deeply as if he had sustained a mortal blow in combat. What’s worse is, you have no idea of the wrong you have done nor the extent of the damage you have caused.”Is there anyway back from this?This is written for The Three Of Swords Valentine’s Event.This is set quite early on in Galahad's knighthood; he's not quite twenty.Thanks go to TigerPrawn for insightful (and laser sharp) comments and to Vix_Specs for the wonderful beta work. This work would be immeasurably lessened without their amazing assistance and with much graciousness to a very harried writer.This is for purplesocrates who has been a devoted reader, constant enabler and cheerleader, long-distance muse, but also being a heck of a writing partner and a very dear friend. This one's for you, my queen of smut, mistress of bondage.  Thanks so very much.





	A Part Of His Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [purplesocrates](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplesocrates/gifts).



It was the ale which made things worse. That’s what Galahad told himself, for the thirtieth time. Maybe he would believe it at some point as he watched Tristan in the dark looking skyward.

 

^^^^^^^

 

Bors filled Galahad’s cup “Here, pup. You can still walk. Can’t have that now can we?”

 

“Bors, are you giving him as many beers as his age? He’s not yet twenty, a few months to go yet,” laughed Gawain. 

 

“I’m nos so drunk.” mumbled Galahad, standing looking at the jug of ale in Bors’ hand.

 

“See? Not so drunk, he says,” said Bors to Gawain. 

 

Bors did enjoy getting the lad drunk. When inebriated there was little filter between the lad’s quick mind and his recklessness of youth. It proved to be usually an interesting pastime, even better because Bors didn’t have to deal with the hangover. 

 

A voice cut through the merriment, a little gruff, Dagonet come on an errand.

 

“Bors, can’t you leave him alone for a change? Come Galahad, Arthur needs you. NOW,” Dagonet marched off out of the tent without a backward glance.

 

Galahad looked at his cup sitting innocently on the wooden table, carefully picked it up in both hands and raised it to his lips and looked at Bors, a lopsided grin creeping over his face, thinking,  _ I’m not so drunk. See? I didn’t slur that at all! _

 

He was so pleased with himself, smiling brightly at the ale just under his nose, just contemplating whether he should gulp it down or-.

 

“GALAHAD!” Dagonet’s voice cut into his musings. 

 

“Oh, shit!” Galahad swore to himself quietly. He gulped the cup quickly in three healthy slurps, burped, putting the cup down with infinite care. Twirling to the left, with a smug-looking expression on his face, he ever-so-carefully walked out of the tent, just missing a very annoyed looking Tristan. 

 

_ He really needs to have some ale. The old spoilsport. He’s always got a stick up his ass. Thinks he’s so much better than the rest of us. _

 

Galahad followed such poisonous thoughts all the way to Arthur’s tent.

 

“Where have you  **been** ?” hissed Dagonet. “You better not let Arthur find out how drunk you are. And you  _ reek!”  _

 

“Not as bad as Bors!” grinned Galahad.

 

If Arthur had heard this little exchange between the two knights, his next decision would have been entirely changed and things would have taken a much different turn. 

 

“This is Galahad, one of my most trustworthy knights. He will retrieve your falcon,” promised Arthur as he motioned to the waiting Roman dignitary. 

 

“Too kind. And then I really must be on the road, with your company as the promised escort,” said the unctuous fat toady, all sycophantic, oozing pustulant charm. 

 

“Of course!” Arthur nodded wearily, knowing that the gold would bring the company that much closer to their cherished dream: freedom. He would bend the knee for his men when so many had given their lives in his service. 

 

Galahad heard the murmur of conversation between the two, the Roman and the soldier-king as he left the tent.  _ None of my business,  _ he thought.

 

Entering the mews, he was surprised to see several birds, hooded for the night. 

 

“Gosh, it’s really dark in here! And Ugh! It smells! Just like him! Maybe that’s why he’s so sour all the time?”

 

This struck Galahad as extremely funny. In fact, it was the funniest thing he heard all night. He doubled over clutching his stomach, giggles falling past his lips, when the first protest from his much put upon stomach began. 

 

He stumbled to the window, tearing down the linen covering, leaning over the sill and promptly vomited up at least a flagon of ale.  _ Maybe it hit Tristan? Oh, no.That.That was unkind. I shall have to make amends for that one,  _ as his stomach revolted again. This time he didn’t clear the window and the smell of bile filled the small room. 

 

The smell and commotion agitated the birds causing them to beat their wings and cry out. Galahad spun around and grabbed at the first hooded raptor. 

 

“Oh! You are a beauty aren’t you? You must be the dignitary’s bird.” 

 

The ale gave Galahad a wicked thought.  _ Wouldn’t it be funny to see that old fat man try and get his hawk back? The fat toady. Serves him right. _

 

And right on it’s heels an idea, which if any of the knights had been in the same room to see would have swore that it made Galahad’s eyes flash like emeralds just then. 

 

_ I bet they would make Tristan help get it down for him. It would teach him a lesson. Yes. I should. It’s all in jest after all. He sorely needs a jest. _

 

He only had eyes for the gorgeous deadly creature in his hand, as his foot met the bucket in which the hawk’s skinned quail and rabbits were stored. The lid jostled off and the smell hit his nose.

 

Galahad’s stomach lurched again and his hand reflexively reached for his abdomen forgetting the hawk who nearly broke a wing batting at his face in her distress at being jostled so. 

 

“Let’s get this off so you can see, then you won’t be scared,” as his shaky fingers removed her hood. 

 

Angered and frightened by this new uncouth human disturbing her rest, she saw the moon through the window and flew off in search of the human who fed and cared for her. 

 

“You are a wonder though!” he said as the hawk spiralled upwards. 

 

“Oh, hey! Don’t go so far!”   

 

He grasped at the jesses thinking he could pull her back down and gasped as they came floating back down in his hands. The hawk was away, bells tinkling. 

 

From down below, came a low muffled cry, quickly cut off.

 

_ Oh, shite! It was the wrong fucking bird! _

 

He turned to collect the other bird and, in his preoccupation, did not see shadows pass through the dim moonlight in the room. 

 

He never reached the other raptor, as Tristan’s fingers found his throat and slammed him against the wall. Struggling ineffectually for release against the older, sober knight, he felt Tristan’s fingers squeeze just a little tighter on his throat. 

 

“Tristan,” Arthur’s unspoken command came from behind Tristan as he eased off the pressure on the drunken man’s throat.  

 

As Galahad looked over the older knight’s shoulder, he realized that Gawain and Lancelot were also present in the room. Lancelot was holding the other raptor with care. 

 

“Tell me why I should not end your life now for touching a fellow knight’s weapons,” Tristan hissed. 

 

“Weapons? It was the dignitary’s bird.”

 

“It was not. You knew it.”

 

Galahad sagged. “Well, not at first. Not until it was well and truly away. It’s only a fucking bird, not a weapon. You can get another.”

 

At this, Tristan went ashen and released Galahad immediately. He stood, his whole body quivering, face in darkness, eyes unreadable. Gawain came over immediately to offer comfort and Tristan shrugged him off and fled the room, racing downstairs. 

 

Galahad stood there looking perplexed, genuinely confused. 

 

Arthur spoke. “I am deeply ashamed Galahad. You have wounded a brother knight multiple times over this night with your arrogance, disregard, callousness, cruelty, thoughtlessness, pride and ignorance. I am greatly tempted to oust you from the knights as of this moment. You have wounded Tristan as deeply as if he had sustained a mortal blow in combat. What’s worse is, you have no idea of the wrong you have done nor the extent of the damage you have caused.”

 

He stopped to survey the filthy room. 

 

“Therefore, you will  **not** be coming with the company. Nor will Tristan. Tomorrow you will clean this room until it is immaculate. You will also clean the campsite. Tristan is in charge. His sole duty is to regain his hawk. For as long as it takes. Your duty is to take care of him so that he does not come to any harm and to see to all of his needs, hunting, gathering, shelter, everything.”

 

“You have the watch tonight. Stay out of Tristan’s way. In fact, stay out of everyone’s way.”

 

Arthur turned to Lancelot “Return the bird to the dignitary at once. Gawain, see to Tristan immediately.” 

 

Gawain saw the small hood on the floor and picked it up along with the jesses and left the room, followed by Lancelot and Arthur. None of them looking at the quickly sobering man.

 

“ _ It was the ale. Bors gets drunk every night. It was only a bird. It’s because of the Roman,”  _ thought the young man, trying to find a reason to assuage the shame he felt. 

 

He didn’t have the courage to admit that Arthur was right. It would be nearly a month before that painful truth was accepted. 

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

The next day was a stinking, nauseating, headache-producing ordeal and it started off with a bath. 

 

Two icy cold buckets from the stream, one poured over Galahad’s head and the other poured from his groin to his throat.

 

“AUGGGHH,” roared Galahad as he leapt from a sound sleep, scrambling now in a muddy patch, arms flailing, fingers itching to draw his dagger.

 

As if he could read his mind, Tristan gave a hard smile and handed both empty buckets to the sodden man and started to walk away.

 

“What the?” Galahad yelled at his retreating back.

 

At that, Tristan spun, knocking Galahad’s legs out from under him sending him back to the mudpatch he had just got up from, immediately pinning him to the ground with a foot on his chest.

 

Galahad wheezed and filled his lungs in preparation to say something. Tristan leaned over and put his finger to his lips. 

 

“You’ve already frightened her. If you yell again, I’ll cut your tongue out, knight or no.”

 

“Then why douse me?”

 

“Isolde said you stink,” a glimpse of fangs.

 

“Who the fuck is Isolde? Some camp follower, a tart of yours? ”

 

Tristan reared back as if Galahad slapped him, then bent forward and whispered in a cold voice, “Get out of my sight and keep quiet. That’s all you have to do until Arthur comes back.”

 

Torn between throwing an empty bucket at his retreating back and doing nothing, Galahad counted to fifty and watched him leave the clearing before heading to the mews. 

 

^^^^^^^^^^

 

As he reached the top of the stairs, the fetid smell brought tears to his eyes and threatened a repeat of last night’s disgrace. 

 

_ No, that’s what they expect of me. I’m better than that. _

 

_ “ _ When are you going to act like it?” he asked the empty room, turning to head back down to the stream to fetch water, buckets in hand.

 

As he trudged to the stream and back, Galahad couldn’t help from shutting off his brain, thoughts circling much like the hawk did last night. He didn’t do much while on watch, any raiding party could have come through and he probably wouldn’t have noticed being too preoccupied with his heaving guts and aching head. 

 

A few things stood out though. He remembered the breaking of camp and how every knight gave Tristan a quiet farewell and a handshake for luck before riding off down the trail. Arthur even pulled his horse up by the stoic knight for a quick handclasp with a nod of his head accompanied by one of his dazzling smiles.

 

Galahad tried to tell himself that it didn’t hurt much to lose Arthur’s favor and really it didn’t. He was sure to get it back but what was going on with Tristan? Was everyone just trying to rub his nose in it? He turned away before his face betrayed him.

 

Everyone avoided looking at him except for a chagrined Bors who came over quietly and gave Galahad a quick hug.

 

“Why pup? Tell me true.” 

 

“S’nothing. Jus a joke.”

 

Bors hissed and drew back. “Arthur was right. I did wrong by you, Galahad, thinking you more of a man, more a knight than you are.” 

 

A low whistle cut through the night. 

 

“Arthur calls, lad. There is no ale nor Bors either to get you in trouble now. Do not give him another cause to kill you pup,” as his hand came down roughly to ruffle unruly curls before he strode off.  

 

_ “There goes my only friend,”  _ thought Galahad.  As usual, he got things completely wrong.

 

That was his last conscious thought until Tristan woke him this morning. 

 

By this time, he had returned with the buckets and proceeded to scrub down the room, grateful for the task, for anything to stop the whirlwind in his head. He didn’t stop, performing one task after the other by rote, nothing really registering in consciousness, until toward the end, something brought him up short.

 

He came across a small leather template for a hawk’s hood. It had been kicked into a corner and was badly crumpled but Galahad could see the precision and delicacy of the workmanship. Unquestionably, It was Tristan’s work.

 

“What does he see in that bird?”  _ Mayhap, I’ll find out  _ came the thought as Galahad put it in his pocket, intending to return it to the taciturn knight later that evening. 

 

“If only he didn’t make me want to box his ears, every time he opens his mouth,” fumed Galahad as he carried the slop bucket carefully down the steps, intending to bury the contents in the forest once he was outside. 

 

^^^^^^^^

 

Chores finally finished hours later and with darkness quickly falling, Galahad was cooking the small fish he was able to catch over some banked coals. 

 

_ Where was Tristan? How long was he going to stay away?  _ Came the thought and just as quick as if his thoughts summoned the knight out of the forest, Tristan appeared bloodied and bruised.

 

Galahad scrambled to his feet, clutching a blanket, staying well out of Tristan’s reach, “sit here, if you will, sirrah.” 

 

“It’s one or the other with you, isn’t it? Sweet words or offensive names. Do not use titles with me lad. Save them for Arthur and his like.”

 

Red-faced at the rebuke, Galahad handed the blanket to Tristan who took it and held up a hand, “Forgive me. It’s been a hard day with harder ones to come. Thank you,” he gestured at the fire and dinner.

 

“Do you need water for your hurts? Every night then?” said Galahad quietly. 

 

Tristan nodded. “I would be grateful.” 

 

When Galahad arrived back with the bucket of water, it was to find Tristan shirtless, examining the back of his tunic. 

 

Keeping his voice low, “everything all right?” 

 

In reply, Tristan holds up the tunic, silently, fingers poking through a bad rip in the back. 

 

“Turn around!” Galahad pulled the older knight so more of his back is illuminated by the firelight and hissed as he sees the injury just to the left of Tristan’s vertebrae and under his ribs, the rest a mass of bruises flaring purple.

 

“Don’t move,” Galahad stoked the fire and placed his knife near the flames. “What happened?”

 

“Happened just as dark was coming on. I saw her, thought I saw her. Wrong time for me to be climbing. Too many shadows. Fell out of a tree, grabbed a branch to break my fall, had it break under me, wound up with a piece of it in my back.”

 

Galahad prodded the skin around wound which caused it to bleed freely.  

 

“I don’t feel anything hard in the skin nor see any wood. I am going to have to poke around though,” said Galahad as he hefted the knife and began to examine the deepest part of the injury. 

 

Tristan gripped his thighs and tried to hold himself steady as the inspection continued.

 

“I don’t see anything nor feel anything in the wound. I’ll dress it for you and check it in the morning.” 

 

Galahad was quickly finished and helped the knight to sit back down, carefully covering his shoulders with the blanket.

 

“Do you want your tunic?”

 

“Not tonight. I will sleep in the mews until it’s scabbed over. There’s no need for you to stay out in the open either.”

 

Galahad split the roasted fish in two and placed both halves on leaves, handing Tristan his dinner and watching him eat with gusto. 

 

“Do you want mine?”

 

Tristan smiled briefly and shook his head no, his lips and fingers gleaming with juices, and braids flying. He gestured at Galahad and it was enough that Galahad’s stomach rumbled in response. He had never tasted better fish.

 

All too soon, dinner over with and the fire covered in dirt, the two of them climb the stairs to the mews, Tristan in the lead. He reached the top and Galahad saw him nod in satisfaction. The older knight set up his bedroll by the open window as if he was listening for something. 

 

Just before he settled down, Galahad gave him what he had been keeping safe all day. Tristan took it from him carefully, opening his satchel and placing it inside with the other items that Gawain gave him the night before. He pretended that he didn’t see the older man’s eyes gleam.

 

“I found this. I’m sorry for what I did. I -”

 

“Stop right there pup. I’m exhausted and I hurt. I don’t want to hear your pretty words.”

 

Galahad nodded and retreated, choosing a spot across the room to bed down.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Tristan rose with the morning chorus, the morning sky still dark. He made his way to the steps and went down carefully, his steps silent.

 

Hours later, Galahad woke to the sound of rain pattering on the roof. He saw the empty bedroll, tidy and neat with the satchel sitting on top, carefully left behind, as if it was too precious to be damaged or lost. Next to it was the folded tunic, ripped side uppermost, a silent reminder.

Galahad picked it up before making his way downstairs. 

 

Sitting on a table, he found a pitcher, it’s opening covered with a tiny delicate woven net weighted with a few clean stones stitched into opposing corners. Marveling at the intricacy, he removed the cover to find mint leaves steeping. Smiling, he replaced the cover and looked around.

 

He saw Tristan sitting in the clearing, cross legged, eyes skyward, shirtless, shivering, holding some skinned animal in his hand, whistling a particular cadence of notes. And then Galahad heard it, the tiny sound of bells. 

 

He left the building by a roundabout way, not wanting to draw attention to himself although he was was sure both man and bird knew exactly where he was. He spent the day fishing and laying a few snares, gathering wood along with foraging although harvest time was past and winter would be here all too soon. He wondered how the older man could stand to just sit in the rain like that, as if he was waiting for his heart’s desire. That’s all it took. 

 

Galahad stuffed his fist into his mouth to silence the sound of his crying as he sunk down next to the rowan tree, tears streaming down his face. 

 

_ I’m a stupid bloody fool! He nearly killed himself for the bird last night! And he’s doing it again. He’ll do it each day until he catches it. _

 

Galahad realized that he was wrong about so many things. It wasn’t about Tristan catching the hawk. It’s not about dominance. It’s about trust. 

 

_ The trust of a fellow knight I abused with my actions. No wonder he doesn’t want to hear my words. Arthur, Bors, all of them. I have to regain Tristan’s trust just like he does with his hawk, with my actions.  _

 

The rain showed little signs of slacking as Galahad made his way back to camp. Tristan had moved a little farther away from where he had been earlier that morning. Galahad caught his eye and Tristan shook his head, whistling another tune, his voice raspy. 

 

Galahad mentally castigated himself for leaving his companion in the rain and went to pour out a cup of tea, leaving his fish on the table and foraged edibles close by.  He carried the cup out to Tristan who took it, sighing as the cool liquid eased his throat. 

 

Galahad mimed drinking another cup, pointing at Tristan. 

 

Tristan nodded, eyes heavy with fatigue. 

 

Galahad tried to be as quiet as he could in getting another cup, his heart soaring when he heard Tristan whistling a little louder than before. He quickly gutted the fish, wrapping them in leaves to be roasted later. He held his hands out in the rain runoff from the second floor of the building, quickly washing them clean and shaking the excess away.  

 

He filled the cup, noticing the tea was nearly all gone. He smiled to himself as he remembered where some wild rose hips grew. Grabbing a bowl and tucking it under his arm, he carried the full cup to his companion, leaving it by his side and heading off to the woods. 

 

Luckily, the rose hips were in a sheltered spot and not too damaged by the rain. He gathered what he could reach safely, leaving behind enough for foraging animals. On the way back he found a patch of mint and plucking most of it, put it on top of the rose hips in the bowl. 

 

He made it back to camp in time to see Tristan unfold his legs and shakily stand up, hands on his hips, stretching his back and then leaning forward to grasp his heels. Galahad swore as he saw the bruises on the backs of the other man’s legs. 

 

“Tristan, are you bruised from shoulders to knees?”

 

“Well, pup, last time I looked everything was connected, so the answer is probably yes. Did you fix my tunic?” 

 

“I’ll do it now.”

 

Tristan’s face was unreadable as he nodded. Galahad made a move to touch the older man’s arm, but Tristan shook it off gently as if Galahad was a puppy who picked the wrong time to play. Galahad watched him as he climbed the stairs to the mews. 

 

_ Damn it! That was the only thing he laid out for me to fix today. He’s tired, cold and wants to rest with some warm clothes. I can’t do anything right! _

 

Galahad climbed the steps two at a time, upon reaching the top, saw the older man undressing cautiously. Galahad winced as he saw the extent of the bruises. 

 

“I can heat some stones and wrap them _.  _ Carry them up here for you, for warmth.”

 

“Take too long,” croaked the older knight as he tucked himself into his bedroll. 

 

Galahad retrieved his bedroll from the opposite side of the room, opened it and covered the other man with it, tucking it underneath him with care. Tristan must have seen something in the younger man’s eyes as he closed his, sighed and was fast asleep within minutes.

As he made his way downstairs, Galahad thought about the older knight upstairs. 

 

_ He’s trying to teach me to not just do things blindly. It’s like when Bors and Gawain taught me how to swordfight. I’m forgetting the most basic rules. How to anticipate. In sword fighting, it’s where the strike will come from. _

 

_ In this instance, it’s how to take care of someone, something. Like the hawk. Tristan anticipates what the hawk will do based on the weather, the circumstances and changes his behavior accordingly. I should have fixed his tunic first. Then went fishing and gotten a fire ready. He would have had warm clothes and a warm bed waiting for him. I saw him shivering before I went out and did nothing. I can’t let him loose the hawk because I can’t take care of him. Arthur will kill me if he falls ill because of my failings.  _

 

In the room downstairs, on one of the exterior walls, Galahad found an overlooked fireplace, not terribly big but adequate for their purposes. He swept it out, checked the flue, watched it draw, made a layer of flat rounded stones, placing wood over them, finally lighting the fire. 

 

Galahad brought Tristan’s shirt closer to the firelight and measured the rip with his fingers. He took off his own tunic looking for some decorative stitching he could undo and finding it around the neck, proceeded to pull out the stitching, measuring with his fingers as he went. He made small openings around the rip with his knife, threaded the thin strips of leather through and tied them together in a complicated braided pattern. Satisfied, he set it aside and put his tunic back on. 

 

He cleaned out the pitcher Tristan had used to steep the tea in repeating the process with the washed mint leaves he found. Replacing the mesh cover, he set it back on the table where it would be ready in the morning. He found a small pottery bowl and mashed some of the rose hips in it. Setting it aside, he poured water into a metal cup and placed it near the fire. 

 

He put the wrapped fish on a metal platter and wandered into the kitchen in the larger building to find a metal grate. Galahad found a grate and more, plates, spoons and bowls and wonder of wonders, two wizened apples. His arms full, he resolved to come back the next day to see what he could borrow. 

 

Once back in what he thought of as their home, he quickly set to work, setting the grate on the fire, pouring the hot water over the rose hips and adding pieces of apple to sweeten the tea. He put the fish on the grate, watching them carefully, remembering Tristan’s delight the previous evening. 

 

_ He won’t have to share tonight. There will be enough for breakfast too.  _

 

Galahad never thought himself one for the pleasures of domestication. All he wanted was to see a smile on Tristan’s face this evening. He didn’t even look for a kind word, he felt the disappointments in himself as keenly as if someone had pointed them out to him. That was the worst, Tristan hadn’t said anything. For the most part, he had been kind or at least forbearing.

 

_ I suppose I’m wrong about his attitudes also. Like so many things, I’m finding out these days.  _

 

Shaking his head, he pulled the fish off the fire, setting it on the plates. He banked the coals pushing them off to one side. He fished two rocks out of the fire and wrapped them in leather scraps that he found in the kitchen. Placing the rocks on the platter, he set it near the stairs. 

 

Returning to the fire, he found a passable branch which would serve as a torch. He picked up the platter and balanced it on his hip,supporting it with one hand, carrying the torch high with the other as he climbed the stairs. 

 

He set the platter down and carefully put the torch in one of the wall sconces. He walked over to the sleeping man and knelt down. 

 

“Tristan, wake up. I’ve brought you something to keep you warm. I’ll bring dinner in a few minutes.”

 

“Pup? What time?” 

 

“Not moonrise yet. Can you roll over? Sit up?”  

 

Galahad went to put his arm around the back of Tristan who shuddered and groaned at the contact.

 

“I’m sorry! Here, hold out your arms in front of you.” 

 

Galahad straddled the bedroll and gently but steadily pulled Tristan forward by clasping him at his forearms until he was sitting upright.

 

“Now, move backwards. That’s it.” 

 

Galahad took off his tunic and wrapped the covered stones up in it, picking them up and carrying the bundle over to the seated knight. 

 

“I brought you these. Don’t put your feet directly on them. But they will keep your body warm.”

 

With Tristan’s help, he opened the bedroll and slipped the stones inside, moving them to the bottom and covering them up again. 

 

“If you turn on your side, you should be able to be warm and still eat.”

 

“Now, lad, I’ve-”

 

“Please, Tristan.”

 

And with that, Galahad took the platter and the torch and went back downstairs, returning twice more, once with the fish and the second time with the rose hip tea and Tristan’s mended tunic. 

 

Galahad got two smiles, once for the tunic, and once for the fish. In the end, they split one fish, as they had the night before, although Tristan was dozing before his was finished. Galahad set it aside for breakfast the next morning and woke the older knight for his tea knowing it would help his aches and pains. 

“Find some white willow bark tomorrow, pup. Better for the pain,” was the last thing Tristan said  before he slipped off to sleep. 

 

Galahad curled up in his bedroll, setting himself perpendicular to Tristan’s feet so he could get some warmth from the stones as well. He felt content with the way things had turned out. 

 

^^^^^^^^

 

The next morning dawned bright and cold. Galahad felt the other man shift and heard Tristan moan as he rolled over and sat up.  

 

“Must you go out? Are you not able to rest and recover from your fall?”

 

Tristan bit back a choked laugh. “No, pup. I have to go everyday to search for her. I have little time.”

 

“What do you mean? Gawain will surely help you when Arthur returns.”

 

“I have until the first snowfall. Arthur and our companions will not be back before then. Three weeks, pup. Maybe less.”

 

“At least let me give you breakfast and tea before you go.”

 

Galahad got another smile at that, and blushed as he retrieved the stones from the bedding, intending to put them back in the fire.

 

Tristan waved him off as he bent to roll up his bedding, gesturing that he should go downstairs and get the fire ready. Picking up the stones, Galahad did just that.

 

He started up the fire using new tinder and the coals from the night before. Blowing it into existence, he added more wood. 

 

Tristan arrived downstairs, balancing the dirty dishes and cups on the large serving platter and setting it on the table. 

 

“If you have water, I can wash up.”

 

Galahad looked around and swore. 

 

“I forgot about the water! We had so much rain yesterday. I should have just left a bucket in the clearing. I’m not doing a very good job at taking care of things.” 

 

Tristan picked up a bucket and headed for the stream. 

 

By the time he returned, Galahad had the tea things ready and the breakfast laid out. He took the bucket from Tristan and filled the metal cup with water, setting it in the fire.

 

“Please, help yourself, Tristan. Will you be in the clearing today?”

 

“No, she is on the move today. She is only in the clearing when the weather is bad.”

 

“Promise me you won’t climb any trees in the dark.”

 

The younger man handed the older knight his tea and wrapped up some fish in some leaves for his lunch. He also filled a waterskin with the mint tea that had been steeping overnight and handed it to Tristan as he took his leave. 

 

“I hope you find her today.”

 

“I know where she is.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Just out of reach.”

 

And with that, he was gone, striding across the clearing and into the forest, calling and whistling.

 

^^^^^

 

Galahad went to the stream with both buckets, surprised when he had to break the ice on the water’s edge with some rocks. Tristan was right, winter would be here soon enough.  

 

After carrying the water back, he checked upstairs, noticing all was neat and tidy.  He looked at the open window and measured the width of it with his arms. The repairs would have to wait until the rest of the company returned. It would take more than two people to cut and hang the cloth over the window. 

 

Wandering back downstairs, he went into the forest to check the snares, collecting a hare and a grouse.  As he did the previous day, he foraged as he headed back to the encampment. Galahad returned to the kitchen intending to find a large soup pot and whatever staples were left in the cellar.  He also gutted, and skinned the hare and plucked the feathers from the grouse and eviscerated it. Making several trips between the larger kitchen and his smaller makeshift one, he collected onions, potatoes, carrots, parsnips and turnips. He found some flour and sugar and even some shriveled grapes. 

 

He found a soup pot and some bowls and spoons. The hare along with most of the vegetables would go in the soup pot for later in the week. The grouse would get cooked that evening. He also had to find more firewood and chuckled as he remembered where there was a sizable deadfall. He was going to be busy the rest of the day.  

 

He went to collect firewood from the deadfall and passed a white willow tree. Remembering what Tristan had said the night before, he cut some of the new growth, twigs and slender sticks primarily. He bundled them up and tied them neatly, hanging the small bundle from his belt. 

 

Continuing further into the forest, he came upon the deadfall and filled his arms with brush and small branches. He headed back to camp and left the brush outside in a pile, to the side of the doorway. 

 

Sitting at the table, he unstrung the bundle of twigs and taking his knife, he scraped the brown thin bark and the greenish fibers underneath until there was a pile of shavings. He set aside the bare white twig and did the same with the rest of the branches until there was a small pile of shavings and scrapings. 

 

He found a small bowl and gathered all the scrapings into it, covering it with a cloth. He didn’t want all his hard work to get blown on the floor or used for tinder for the fire.

 

He walked next door to see if he could find some honeycomb or jam to put in the tea as it was going to be bitter. Luckily, he found both items and grinning with delight, carried both back to the living area. He wouldn’t make the tea until Tristan arrived as it would be inedible if he let it steep for too long. 

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

As dusk fell, the soup was simmering on the back of the grate and the grouse was being roasted. Everytime a twig snapped, Galahad looked up, sure he would see the older knight returning. It grew darker and darker and he could hear the foxes barking and calling.  He moved the dinner off the direct heat and set it to the side to keep warm. 

 

He sat watching the clearing. His stomach was in knots, if Tristan had arrived, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to eat dinner for the way he was feeling. Without being aware of it, he couldn’t keep his legs still, one of them was shaking as if he listening to playful tune. 

 

He heard the fire popping and turned to check on the wood and the coals. Nothing was amiss and when he turned back, there was Tristan quietly striding into the firelight. Galahad rose and guided the battered knight into the chair he just vacated. 

 

He brought a bowl of water and some cloths for Tristan who nodded his thanks. When he had cleaned himself, the younger man brought over tea and the roasted grouse. Galahad sensed a change over dinner. Tristan was more taciturn than usual. Oh, he thanked Galahad but no more words were forthcoming. And he ate even less than the night before.

 

Galahad brought over a mug of tea but he also took a bit of the honeycomb and placed it in the mug, setting it before older knight. Tristan grunted his appreciation as he drank the willow bark tea quickly. 

 

He silently handed the mug back, wiping his hand across his mouth. The younger man tossed the willow scrapings on the fire, rinsed the cup and filled it with mint tea. He placed it on the table by Tristan’s bruised hand. Tristan caught Galahad’s fingers and squeezed them gently with his bruised hand as he picked up the mug and drank most of the tea in one lusty gulp. 

 

Finally Galahad broke the silence. “I have something for you,” and brought out the grapes, placing them before Tristan.

 

“No, thank you, lad. You have them,” and he thanked him again for the dinner and the willow tea, grabbing his cup and heading into the clearing. He looked for a suitable twiglet and proceeded to brush his teeth, rinsing his mouth with the mint tea.  

 

Finished with his evening ablutions, the older man walked back into the small room, said goodnight and went to the stair leading up to their sleeping quarters. 

 

When Galahad had finished clearing away the dishes, and banking the fire, he followed Tristan’s example and got ready for sleep. When he went upstairs, he found that Tristan had moved his bedroll further away from Galahad and was fast asleep. The change in the sleeping arrangements startled him but he put it down to exhaustion.  _ Maybe I snore?  _ he thought as he drifted off to sleep. 

 

From that point on, Tristan seemed to draw in on himself. He woke up earlier, trying to leave without waking the younger knight. He stayed away longer when he was tracking, returning later in the evenings, speaking less, looking into the fire and then rising silently to head upstairs to an uneasy slumber.

 

After nearly two weeks of this, as Tristan was heading upstairs after another silent evening, with another fruitless search, Galahad put his arm out and said,

 

“Tristan. Wait. Please. I can’t do this any longer.”

 

Tristan stopped and looked at the younger man with something like despair in his eyes. 

 

“Why this bird? Tell me.” 

 

Tristan looked like he was going to topple. In a voice, raspy from disuse, “She’s a part of me. A part I will never be again.”

 

Galahad didn’t let go of Tristan’s arm, feeling like it was the only thing grounding the older knight. Wordlessly, he asked him to continue.

 

“Free, pup. She’s free. And I’m not and likely never to be. She’s the only thing I will ever be connected with—not own, never that—that will be free. And while she flies, a tiny part of me flies with her. So now you know what you set loose, a part of my soul. Everyday it hurts more.”

 

Galahad sat with unshed tears in his eyes and opened his mouth to speak. Tristan put his finger on Galahad’s lips and in a broken voice whispered, 

 

“No, pup. No honeyed words from you. Everyone saw. Everyone understood but you. Speak to me no longer. My heart is too fragile a thing for your words. I have one more week to find Isolde. If she comes not to me, you and I are brothers no longer. I do not have the strength for this bond.” 

 

Galahad drew back his arm as if he had been burned, eyes blinking furiously, not wanting to cry in front of Tristan. He stood up intending to grasp the older knight’s arm again, make him stay, to  _ listen. _

 

As quickly as Tristan was released, he turned and rushed to the stairs as if he feared the younger man would prevent him from leaving the room or if he feared what else might be said. Galahad watched him go and fell back to slump in the chair as if he was a marionette whose strings had been cut.

 

He put his head in his hands and let the tears flow. There was no one to chide him now, although he was sure that Tristan would never behave like that towards him. He tried to quiet his sobbing so he wouldn’t disturb Tristan. It made his chest hurt though as if he spent the past hour coughing.

 

Abruptly he pushed himself away from the table and wobbling on unsteady legs, wandered into the larger building, heading for the council room where the Round Table was located. Stumbling into his customary seat, he put his head in his hands and gave vent to his feelings, knowing he wouldn’t be disturbed.

 

As he wailed, a flurry of thoughts ran through his head.  **_Now_ ** _ I know what Arthur meant. What a blind self-obsessed officious self-righteous pompous prig I am! I outright asked him if Isolde was a doxy. He should have boxed my ears for that insult. And now tonight, asking him something that was so obvious to anyone else. Just two weeks ago, I wanted to hurt him, wound him because I thought him a stuck up fool and only thought the reason Arthur kept him around was for his archery. How stupid I was! I was jealous of Tristan and could not admit it to myself. I always thought he was showing off, to make himself more important. He’s not like that at all. If anything, I could be accused of those same things. By my spite and jealousy, I caused him unnecessary anguish and hardship.     _

 

Head pounding, chest hurting, he gulped and composed himself, wiping his face. Looking  around at the table, he wondered if he would still be a part of the company when Arthur returned. If Tristan didn’t want to hear his apology in words, he would just have to work harder at showing him by his actions. He only had a week left. 

 

He stood up and left the room, hoping that he could prove he could be a member of the company. Retracing his steps, he walked back to the other building, bedding down in a chair in front of the fire, not wanting to disturb Tristan. 

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

The final week was hellish for Galahad. He was sure Tristan was having just as difficult a time coping as he was. The weather was very cold but sunny, so it meant lots of tracking for Tristan.    The older man’s anxiety ratcheted up day by day and the circles under his hazel eyes got darker each morning.

 

Galahad offered to organize different sleeping arrangements. However, Tristan said he would not leave the mews nor would he move away from the open window for fear of not hearing the sound of Isolde’s bells. In a perverse way, both men seemed intent on suffering as if they could not foresee any other way of behaving.  

 

When the week was almost over, the two of them sat before the fire with mugs of tea. It was one of the few comforting things that Tristan allowed himself. After calling and whistling all day for his hawk, it helped soothe his aching throat. 

 

With a grimace of pain and a raspy voice, Tristan said “Snow, tomorrow.”  Galahad gave him more tea. 

 

“I caught a rabbit for dinner tomorrow but you can have it for her.”

 

Tristan nodded and attempted to say thank you but all that came out was a horrible croak. 

 

This time it was Galahad who put his fingers to the older knight’s lips.

 

“Stop. Save your voice. Go up to sleep.” 

 

Tristan grimaced, drained his mug and slowly made his way upstairs after clasping the younger man’s shoulder as he passed. 

 

^^^^^^^^

 

True to Tristan’s prediction, the snow started at breakfast. Galahad busied himself with tea making and watched as Tristan cut up the rabbit in smaller pieces, enticing enough for a hawk.

 

“Do you want some breakfast?” 

 

Tristan shook his head no. 

 

“You have to say something. I need to know if you have your voice back,” as Galahad handed him a steaming mug.

 

Tristan opened his mouth to say his thanks and no sound came out. He turned pallid and hit the table with his open palm. Galahad could see the gleam of tears in his eyes. He put the mug down on the floor and grasped Tristan by his shoulders, looking into his eyes.  

 

“You have to let me help you. I can whistle her summoning call and will hide myself. You will call her name but only for a short time every hour. You save it for when she is close. We’ll work out a sign when you want me to stop and start. I will make several servings of tea throughout the day which I insist you drink. That’s the best I can do.” 

 

With gestures, Tristan indicated that he wanted to hear Galahad whistle. He prepared several skins filed with tea as he was serenaded by Galahad. By the third repetition, Tristan nodded his approval and went upstairs to get his bedroll. He gave it to Galahad and went outside carrying the skins and the cut up rabbit.

 

Galahad pulled two short cut logs from the little woodpile he had started outside. Leaving one behind, he carried the other to Tristan who was busy in the center of the clearing. Tristan had tramped down and kicked a depression in the snow and taking the log, he set it in the middle of the cleared patch. He kept one skin and gave the others to Galahad.

 

“Tristan, do you want a covering? A blanket? There is one in the stables.”

 

Tristan shook his head ‘yes’ and sat down on the log, waiting and watching the skies. He could hear the tinkle of bells, the sound seemed very loud in the midst of the snowstorm. Galahad came back with the horse blanket and helped to set it around Tristan’s shoulders to prevent the wind whipping it away. Tristan’s hand drifted up and caught the younger knight’s fingers as he was tucking the blanket securely. Galahad squeezed his fingers in response and retreated to the wood pile where he set up his own station, covering himself with the bedroll. 

 

He started whistling, watching Tristan’s hand signals to indicate whether he should be a little louder or to change the cadence. Tristan had taken some of the rabbit and was holding it in his hand hoping that the hawk’s hunger would finally overcome its fear of humans. Galahad kept looking at Tristan’s fingers thinking how numb they must be. He imagined how cold the other must be even with the blanket as he was sitting out in the open with nothing to block the wind. At least Galahad was partially protected from the wind by the wood pile. 

 

As the storm continued, Tristan could see the hawk was circling, definitely interested in the food and not wanting to go hunting in this weather. He signalled to Galahad to stop whistling and tried to call to her.

 

“Isolde, my deadly hunter. Come Isolde. Take your dinner. Come down Isolde, my beauty”  

,

Galahad heard the longing and love in Tristan’s voice and wanted to cry all over again. He saw the signal for the whistling to begin again and vowed he would keep at it. After all, Tristan had been doing this for three weeks now. One day, even sitting in the snow, in the cold, it was small payment enough but it was all he had to offer. He’d do it without any rancour, any protests. 

 

Time ceased to have meaning for either man as the morning melded into afternoon. With the grey sky, there was little to indicate the passing of time. Galahad watched as Tristan’s braids iced over from his exhaled breath and the snow melted from his body heat and ran down the blanket, only to ice over the closer it got to the ground. 

 

Tristan set the rabbit down by his feet and with shaky hands picked up the skin hoping to find liquid tea rather than ice. He nearly dropped it as his numb fingers opened it and held it to his mouth, thanking his luck that it hadn’t frozen solid yet and quenching his thirst. He closed it and hung it around his neck hoping the body heat would melt the ice or at the very least prevent it from freezing solid. 

 

He picked up the rabbit again and watched the hawk come closer. It was now in one of the larger Oak trees, maybe twenty-five feet away and he could see it hopping along one of the larger branches. He motioned to Galahad to stop whistling. Holding the rabbit over his head, he called again to the raptor. 

 

“Isolde, I know you’re hungry. Isolde, come!” 

 

At that, the hawk took wing, swooping over the clearing, over Tristan’s head and snatched the food out of his hand. She returned to the branch to eat her dinner. Tristan smiled widely at the aerial acrobatics. 

 

Galahad nearly shouted with joy but bit his lower lip to keep silent at the sight. The last thing he needed was to spook the bird. His heart soared as he saw Tristan’s beaming smile and his laugh lines around his eyes. 

 

 _Gosh, when he smiles like that, he’s amazing!_ _Why haven’t I realized before how beautiful he is? Is that why I thought those awful thoughts? Because I was uneasy about looking at him? It was easier to dismiss him than admit I felt something...else. I was so wrong about him in so many ways. I have learned so much from him these past few weeks. I want to get to know him better. I would be by his side until the end of days if he would allow it._

Tristan waited to fish out another piece of rabbit until Isolde had eaten her snack. Her head bobbed as he held a new piece in his hand. His raspy voice carried through the clearing as he gave another command and waggled the rabbit at the bird. 

 

“Come, Isolde.”  

 

She flew down to a closer tree and landed on a branch nearer to Tristan, bobbing and weaving her head. He gave the command again and she hopped along the branch, suddenly taking off and again snatching the meal from his glove. 

 

Tristan took a drink while the hawk ate her meal and looked at the skies, gauging the weather. He chose a larger hind leg and held it in his hand again. He called again. 

 

“Come, my beauty. Isolde, fly to me.” 

 

This time, perhaps enticed by the larger meal or finally feeling safe enough, the hawk took wing and landed on Tristan’s glove, tearing at the meat. He held her feet carefully and stood up with infinite care, turning to go back inside the building. He walked quickly towards the building and stopped just outside the door, his other hand fiddling around his belt, fishing for her hood. 

 

Suddenly, he felt it being pushed into his hand. Not daring to look at Galahad, with dexterity born of long practice, he carefully placed it on Isolde’s head with one hand. He felt Galahad’s hand on his shoulder. He nodded in reply and took the bird upstairs to her perch in the mews.

 

Galahad checked the fire and carried both log pieces in one by one, placing one on the embers immediately and leaving the other by the side of the fireplace for later. He brought the wet blanket and bedroll inside, hanging both of them up to drip dry. The last items were the filled skins and the rest of the rabbit. 

 

He took the rabbit upstairs to Tristan. Before he reached the second floor, he called softly to the older knight.

 

“May I come up? Is it safe?” 

 

A hoarse reply. “Yes.”

 

Tristan moved her perch well away from the open window and drafts. He walked over and took the bucket from Galahad. 

 

“She needs water. Could you?”

 

Galahad not wanting to spook the raptor, nodded yes and left to bring a mug of water while Tristan checked Isolde’s feet and wings for any injuries while she was in the wild. 

 

Galahad returned with the water and watched as Tristan fed her some and then set the cup aside for later. He made sure her hood was secure and her jesses attached and secured to the perch. Only when he was sure she was safe, did he follow Galahad downstairs.

 

When both men were in downstairs, Tristan reached out and clasped the younger man’s shoulder. Galahad turned at the touch and saw the tears in the older knight’s eyes. Tristan opened his arms and the younger knight stepped forward into the embrace. 

 

“Thank you, lad. Thank you for helping me to get her home.”

 

“I’m sorry for being an ass and hurting you, Tristan. I’m so glad she’s safe.”

 

“Brothers again?”

 

“Always and forever, Tristan.”  Galahad couldn’t be sure if he felt a chaste kiss against his curls or if it was just his imagination. 

 

The men stepped apart and Galahad pulled a chair up to the fire. He placed the other log upon the fire and insisted that Tristan sit in the chair. 

 

“I will look for anything to use as bedding from next door. Stay by the fire. You have ice in your hair.” 

 

Tristan reached up to touch his hair and shuddered as the heat from the fire, melted the snow, causing it to run down his neck under his tunic and drip in between his shoulder blades. 

 

“I’ll be quick,” said the younger knight and he hurried off. 

 

Tristan took the opportunity to take off his sodden shoes, stretching his legs to the warmth and watched his leggings steam as they dried. 

 

^^^^^^^

 

Galahad came back with linens and some blankets, along with three other items he found in the kitchen. He found Tristan dozing in front of the fire. Placing all of his scavenged items on the wooden table, he picked up a blanket, shook it out and covered his companion with it.  He quietly carried the rest of the bedding upstairs and placed it by his bedroll.

 

Returning downstairs, he checked to see if Tristan was still asleep before continuing with his chores. He made some dumplings from the flour, water and a bit of salt. From the coldest part of the room, he carried the soup pot he placed there the night before. When he looked in the soup pot, the stock was icy on top and he set the stew to reheat on the fire. 

 

When the soup was simmering, he cut the dumplings into small pieces and dropped them into the soup. He brought in more wood and poured water into a separate pot he brought from the kitchen. He added soapwort and lavender and set it aside on indirect heat. He secured the outside door and set the table. Lastly, he heated up water for tea and crushed the last of the rose hips in two mugs. 

 

A gentle shake and whispered name. “Tristan”

 

Tristan awoke and coughed. “I smell soup.” 

 

“Will you help me move the table by the fire? It’s cold tonight.”

 

Tristan nodded and drew off the blanket, standing to help move the small table by the fire. Galahad brought over bowls, spoons and a ladle. Tristan poured the water into the mugs and allowed the younger man to serve up the soup. 

 

“Thank you for taking care of me all this time, Galahad. I never would have got her without your help.”

 

“Please don’t thank me. We’ve forgiven each other. Leave it there.”

 

Tristan hummed, nodded and smacked his lips as he devoured his bowlful. He flushed as he asked if he could have another serving.

 

“Considering you’ve hardly ate anything for the past two and a half weeks, I would say you’re entitled,” Galahad chuckled as he took the dish and filled his companion’s soup bowl again.

 

_ I’m so glad to see he’s eating again and so glad this whole thing has a happy ending.  _ Both men grinned at each other and Galahad took Tristan’s example, ladling out another serving to himself.  

 

Setting his bowl aside, Tristan wrapped his hands around his mug of tea and took a careful sip. He grimaced a bit at the bitter taste but knew he needed the restorative drink. The only noise was the popping and crackling of the fire as the two finished their meal. 

 

Breaking the silence, Galahad said, “you could wash your hair. I found soapwort and lavender. Sit by the fire and take your tunic off.”

 

Tristan chuckled, “Did Isolde tell you I stink?”

 

“Yes, actually she did.”

 

Tristan took off his tunic and tried to unbraid his hair. His hands shook badly and he sat cursing as his usual gracefulness apparently left him. 

 

“I think you need to relax. Here let me try,” whispered Galahad as he carefully extricated the lock of hair from Tristan’s fingers. 

 

Tristan closed his eyes and leaned back as Galahad undid the ties and unlaced Tristan’s plaits and braids. He gently ran his fingers through the dark, straight hair, detangling the largest knots and snarls, marveling inwardly at how soft it was as it fell through his hands. Tristan hummed with contentment at being petted. 

 

Stepping away toward the fire, Galahad used some pieces of leather to pull the smaller pot off the fire and set it down by the back of Tristan’s chair on the floor. He retrieved a small shallow saucer which he set next to the pot of water on the floor. Carefully, he scooped up some water out of the pot with the saucer.

 

“I’m going to start now. You tell me if it’s too hot.”

 

Tristan kept his eyes closed but whispered “aye.”

 

With infinite care, Galahad tested the water in the saucer on his skin near his elbow. Finding the heat tolerable, he proceeded to wet Tristan’s hair. Bending over, scooping out more water and continuing to wet all of Tristan’s hair took some time. Galahad didn’t rush: they had all night for this. 

 

He did gently shift Tristan’s head upwards so that the herbal scented water didn’t splash or flow down Tristan’s face. Once Tristan’s hair was thoroughly wet, Galahad began to massage his scalp, neck and hair. The soapwort did foam as Galahad continued to rub it through Tristan’s long hair. Pausing only to get more water, the younger man continued his ministrations.  

 

He could see the older knight relax in the chair as he continued. Every time Galahad’s fingers rubbed his scalp or neck, Tristan grunted. As Galahad combed his fingers through Tristan’s soapy, slippery locks, Tristan sighed. Galahad was so pleased that he closed his eyes and just listened to Tristan’s chorus of contented sounds.  

 

[](https://imgur.com/DMKTEXE)

 

And then something unexpected happened. Galahad was pulling his fingers through a large portion of Tristan’s air and his fingers found a snarl. By accident, Galahad  **tugged** . Tristan responded with a lusty moan and Galahad’s eyes shot open as his body thrummed in response as if he was a bowstring which had just been released. Tristan’s eyes were still closed. Galahad smiled a wicked smile and slid his fingers up to the top of his head, just off to the side from where he pulled before. With the soapwort, his fingers slipped and slid easily, he dragged his fingers down and grasping a new section of hair, tugged Tristan again hard enough that his head moved backward and his chin pointed skyward. Tristan groaned and swore, his breath taking a sharp hitch. 

 

“You better stop that, pup.” 

 

“You  _ like _ it.”

 

Tristan chuckled. “Yes, but I’m also exhausted.” 

 

“Fair enough. Just let me rinse you.” 

 

Galahad picked up the now cooled pot and moved it to the table. He found the pitcher of water which was intended for tea and brought it over to Tristan. Telling him to keep his head back, he rinsed Tristan’s hair free from the soapwort, carefully running this fingers through it as the clear water washed all the traces away. 

 

He turned and checked the blanket he had hung up earlier, the one from the stables. It would do. He picked it up and used it to pat Tristan’s hair dry, then used it to wipe up the wet floor. Groaning, Tristan sat forward and then stood, picking up the table and moving it out of the way. 

 

He walked over to Galahad who was still down on his knees with the blanket wiping at the soapy water. He reached down and grasped the younger man by his elbow. Galahad sat back on his knees and looked at Tristan from under his fringe of curls, his eyes huge in his face. Tristan pulled him up and stepping forward, wrapped him in a huge hug.

 

Galahad heard a muffled “Thank you, Galahad.”

 

“My pleasure.”

 

“Return the favor?”

 

“No, not tonight.” 

 

The two men separated and soon had the room tidy and the fire banked for the night. Tristan got dressed in his tunic again, glad it hadn’t gotten wet. Galahad picked up the blanket Tristan had been using earlier when he dozed by the fire and made his way upstairs, Tristan close behind. 

 

Tristan insisted on taking the blanket only and Galahad refused. In the end, they compromised, laying out the bedroll on the floor, sharing it and covering themselves with the linens and blanket.

 

As they huddled in the cold room, Galahad listened to Tristan breathe heavily and then snore quietly. He gripped his arms tightly as if he was giving himself a hug, smiled and sighed contentedly. He snuggled next to Tristan and thought  _ What an  _ **_interesting_ ** evening. _ I wonder what other noises I can get him to make? _   Galahad couldn’t wait to find out.  __

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Purplesocrates for the falconry/hawking tips. Incredibly helpful as always. <3 <3 <3
> 
> Thanks go to my co-creator, Nonexistenz for producing such a superb artwork to grace this story. Please stop over on Tumblr and give the artist kudos and all the love for this bit of loveliness!


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